


Teammates

by Besin



Series: World Domination and Other Occupations [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Background Kanima, Gen, X-Men AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3945154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Besin/pseuds/Besin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lacquered nails click insistently against computer keys, letters fluttering up onto an e-mail. “How is our friend in sector 12?”</p>
<p>“Sleeping.”</p>
<p>“Because he wants to or because you want him to?” she accuses quietly.</p>
<p>“He was upset,” Jackson informs her lowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teammates

Glittering beneath long tubes of fluorescent bulbs, the Tank glimmers a brilliant green in the artificial light. Dapples map the floor before it with steadily weaving spots and waves, dancing across the polished concrete among the shadows.

Across the room, a door flies open, and through it come a pair of worn, polished stilettos. The punishing click as they strike the floor fills the room. The sound echoes and screams; bounces from the glass and the concrete and the high, high ceiling. They stride confidently to the computer flush against the side of the Tank, screens dark and towers humming. In the stilettos, Lydia Martin settles confidently into her chair, lab coat sweeping back to reveal a short, fitted dress that hugs her torso and thighs. Her hands slide across the surface of the desk, manicured fingers finding the mouse quickly. A flood of light streams into the room from the monitors as they burst to life, requesting a password to unlock.

“Jackson,” she whispers, typing her password quickly before navigating through a series of pages.

From the shadows emerges a large, scaled body, tail swinging from side to side predatorily. “Yes, master?” His voice is twisted. Layered and malformed. The sound lingers in the air as an aftertaste, as if waiting to fall to the ground and split into two separate entities.

Lacquered nails click insistently against computer keys, letters fluttering up onto an e-mail. “How is our friend in sector 12?”

“Sleeping.”

“Because he wants to or because you want him to?” she accuses quietly.

“He was upset,” Jackson informs her lowly. “He was requesting things, again.”

Lydia sighs. “What was it this time? A Tamagochi? TV? A knife?”

“The Harry Potter books.”

She scoffs. “Sentimental fool.” Her hair bobs attractively as she shakes her head. “Go get Peter, would you?”

“Which Peter?”

“You know which Peter.”

Jackson nods slowly, then fades back into the shadows.

It’s hardly a minute later when the man is at her door, stepping into the room with a grimace. “What do you want?”

“Stiles feels familiar to you,” she murmurs blandly, eyeing her fingernails. “Like something you’ve found that’s been hidden in a box for years and you just now found it.”

He strides across the room, eyeing her carefully before pulling to a stop beside the Tank. “What are you going on about now?”

“Don’t deny it. Anyone with eyes – or access to security footage – could see you practically mooning over him from across the cafeteria.”

“I don’t ‘moon’,” Peter insists sharply.

“And I don’t like Shirley Temples,” she drawls back. “We could talk in circles about technicalities and correct word usage for decades, but a lie is a lie, and I absolutely adore cherries.”

“What do you even want?” he snaps again. “You wouldn’t call me down here without a reason.”

She glances away from her nails, eyeing him carefully up and down. “I want you to promise me that, as his partner in the field, you won’t try to drag Stiles into some alley and fuck him against a wall.”

“I’m not stupid. He’s what – seventeen? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen,” she corrects. “Every year for us is two for him.”

“How-”

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “Ask him. Now…” Clicking twice, a series of documents start to file out of a printer, which beeps to complain vocally about low toner. “These are the lines you are permitted to use outside the compound – and only on a mission. Consider yourself fully instated to an Agent of the United States’ Mutant Emergency Dispatch Service.” Snatching the papers still warm from the printer, she rises to her feet and pushes them into the man’s arms. “You’ll also find the code to the company closet on page four, along with a series of protocols to be followed on missions and details as to the stipend you will receive for personal comforts. Please keep in mind that if you decide to own anything that exists after your partner’s current time stream that his access to your quarters will be restricted and cameras will be installed in your bedroom should you wish to invite him in.”

Peter stares down at the papers, confused. “So… it’s official, then? Stiles and I are partners.”

Lydia nods. “On a probationary basis, but yes. Welcome to M.E.D.S., a subsidiary of the Echo corporation. You will be a cure to the disease that wracks the country. A vaccine of sorts.” Her voice is condescending at best. “Any questions?”

“In general?” the man inquires. “Or in relation to the paperwork?”

“In general.”

His eyes turn from the papers to the Tank. “Why do you store them in water?” Peter asks, glancing from subject to subject as they float is their strictly controlled radiuses, wires twining around their arms and torsos, locking them into place.

Lydia hums. “It’s rather simple,” she tells him softly. “It’s a security measure. This way, if they wake up without our say so… they drown.”

“So… if I had-”

“Yes.”

Turning away from the tank, Peter eyes the woman with growing suspicion. “You came up with this, didn’t you?”

She smiles briefly, but doesn’t answer.

“Do you store everyone who doesn’t agree with you in a tank?”

A halfhearted shrug is the initial response as she settles back into her chair, smoothing her dress down her legs. “Some people can’t appreciate the passage of time properly while unconscious.”

Silence passes, and after a long while of building tension Peter asks, “You said this is a subsidiary of the Echo corporation,” he begins slowly. “That’s an audio software company…” He turns back to the Tank, staring up at it curiously.

“That’s right,” Lydia agrees, lips curling lightly, dimples slowly being put on display.

“It’s a cover.”

“Obviously.”

“And if we need a cover… we aren’t actually working for the government, are we?”

Lydia smiles. “Only a fool would believe it.”

“Are you calling Stiles a fool?”

“Yes,” she answers dryly. “Yes, I am.”

“How many of the agents actually believe M.E.D.S. is an emergency response team?”

“One,” she replies simply. “But if you repeat a lie enough it begins to become your reality. Though you know all about that, don’t you Peter Hale?”

The man turns from the Tank, staring, confused, at the woman in the chair. “I’m sorry. I don’t-”

“Give it a few months,” Lydia insists softly. “You’ll understand soon enough.”


End file.
